


Por Un Parecido

by LOLDivo



Category: Il Divo
Genre: Blackmail, Evil Impostor, Fake Porn, Fake-Ass Carlitos, Gen, Happy Ending, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Minor Violence, Swearing, inspired by instagram
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-13
Updated: 2019-04-13
Packaged: 2020-01-12 14:42:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18448682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LOLDivo/pseuds/LOLDivo
Summary: Carlos finds out that someone on Instagram has been pretending to be him, phishing fans and posting a very disturbing video.  The four Divos must figure out how to stop an obsessed impostor from carrying out a plan that could spell ruin for Carlos and Il Divo.





	Por Un Parecido

**Author's Note:**

> This whole damn story was started because some person on Instagram had actually created an account with a very similar handle as Carlos Marin's official account, and he was sending messages to people asking for their information. Of course, I was already imagining fic scenarios left and right, the main one being "What if Carlos confronted this sonuvabitch and it ended up being an evil twin or something?" Two months and a shit-ton of editing later, I present the answer to that question...

“Are you fucking serious? Is there really someone out there claiming to be me?” Carlos asked as Seb showed him an Instagram post.

“It would seem so,” replied Seb, crowded next to Carlos in the loveseat. Urs perched himself on the armrest next to Carlos while David squeezed himself into the space on the opposite end. “See, this person set up an Instagram account with your picture and an almost identical username. He’s been sending private messages to fans asking for personal information.”

“And that’s not even the worst of it,” David added, tapping away at his own tablet. “The same person has been posting content on a porn site under your name.”

Carlos chuckled and retorted, “Davey, we already established that yes, I did take those photos and somehow my phone got hacked. My dick is out there, so what?”

David shook his head as he handed his tablet over for the other Divos to see. “It's not those pictures. They found a guy who looks so much like you that they’ve put out a fairly convincing video. Whoever it is, they want people to think that you’re into some pretty fucked up shit.” A video started playing that featured a man who, undoubtedly, looked and sounded a whole lot like Carlos. At the forty-eight second mark, all four companions physically recoiled and made various sounds of disgust.

“What the fuck, what the actual fuck,” muttered Urs, clutching the backrest cushion to keep from falling off the arm of the sofa.

“Carlos, please tell me you would never consent to that,” pleaded Seb as he burrowed his face into Carlos’s shoulder.

Carlos himself was at a loss for words. “I’m not even into…how did they…I wouldn’t…no…that’s absolutely disgusting!”

Having inflicted enough damage, David quickly repossessed the tablet, exited the offending page, and cleared his browser history. “Like I said, fucked up.”

In a flash of movement, Carlos was on his feet and rolling up his dress shirt sleeves, already aching for a fight. “Where can I find this _cabrón_ so I can beat the shit out of him?”

At that moment, Carlos’s phone emitted a wolf whistle to alert him of a text message. He took it out of his pocket and opened the text. Urs slid into Carlos’s empty spot on the couch as he inquired, “Who is it?”

Carlos turned back around and responded, “Some unknown number, but it says 'Did you like that video of yourself, Carlitos?' There's also an audio clip, let’s listen.”

When he pressed play, a male voice started to speak. _“Hello Carlos, longtime fan, first-time caller here. Hope you enjoyed that little treat; there’s plenty more where that came from. If you don’t want another, much less flattering video released to every major news outlet, come to the warehouse three blocks south and two blocks west of your hotel at exactly 10:30pm tonight. Bring $10,000 cash, all in $5 bills, in a black handbag and come ALONE by foot. Wear your nicest white shirt with black slacks and boots so I'll know you followed my instructions. Failure to do so, or any kind of funny business, may result in an interesting news day tomorrow. Adios!_ ”

The message ended; it took Carlos a few moments to process the gravity of the situation. “What the fuck am I supposed to do?”

“Try calling it back,” suggested David. Carlos did so, only for them to hear " _The number you dialed has been disconnected."_ “Figures, probably a burn phone.  This guy seems hellbent on drawing you out.” He pondered about the matter for a moment and proposed, “I say we give him what he wants.”

“What?!” exclaimed the other Divos.

David held up a hand and said, “Let me explain. If this was really about the money, I would think the person would be asking for a lot more than $10k. Most blackmailers would request at least double that amount. Seems to me like his ultimate goal is to have an encounter with Carlos. Unfortunately, we don’t know how he got Carlos’s number, and we can’t call back to negotiate the terms. It's 8:15pm right now, so we have about two hours to figure out how we can go about this in a smart way."

Ever the lawful Swissman, Urs proclaimed, "The smart way would be to get the police involved. We can't entertain this lunatic's whims and expect him to keep his word. Let them take care of it and don't go, Carlos."

"But see, we don't know how he's going to release the hypothetical video," argued David. "He might already have the video uploaded on his phone and all he needs to do is hit the Send button. He could have someone sitting at a computer miles away who will send out the video of they don't hear from him at a certain time. Maybe he's got both things in place. We need to at least know how he plans to do it before we sic the cops on him."

Seb chimed in and asked, "How do we know he’s not bluffing?"

Another text came through on Carlos's phone, this one from a different number than before. Carlos read aloud, " _In case you need more convincing_. Oh god." There was a thirty-second video clip attached, and the screenshot alone was enough to make him and the other Divos cringe. Against his better judgment, Carlos played it.

In the span of that half minute, David said "gross" at least six times, Urs ran off to the bathroom to throw up,  Carlos dropped his phone as though it were a hot iron, and Seb was Rick-rolling himself on his own phone to push the video out of his brain. "Yeah, that guy's serious, alright," Seb conceded over Rick Astley's chorus. "It'll take at least two more listens of this song before I'm ready to come up with a plan."

 

* * *

 

About two hours after the last round of "Never Gonna Give You Up", Carlos approached the warehouse with a black zipped tote bag on his shoulder. David had insisted it would suit the "black handbag" request, even if it did have the Harley Davidson logo on it (Urs always kept a spare one in his checked luggage). He wore his black dress pants and boots with a white dress shirt, rolled up at the sleeves and partly unbuttoned. Though he tried to walk with confidence, Carlos couldn't help feeling uneasy; this place could be a death trap for all he knew.

The warehouse door was opened just enough for Carlos to get in without having to suck in his paunch. Once inside, only a few hanging fixtures provided dim yellow light. Towering stacks of large wooden crates crowded the back half of the building, making the space feel much smaller than it actually was. In the shadow of one of these pillars lurked a shaded figure, roughly the same height and build as Carlos. When the figure emerged into the light, Carlos almost dropped the bag; before him stood an exact doppelgänger of himself. The outfit, the face, and even the curl of hair on his forehead had all been replicated to the last detail.

" _Hola chico_ , I see you got both messages, eh?" greeted the lookalike, impersonating Carlos's voice and accent perfectly. "Didn't think you'd ever see yourself doing that kinda stuff, I bet. _Ay, que lascivo, papi, ¡deberías azotarte!_ " Suddenly, the impostor spoke with an American accent, fracturing the illusion. "See, I had to practice two hours a day for a whole damn week before I could get that funny thing you do with your Z's down.  It takes a lot of work being you, but the payoff…I'm looking at it right here."

Carlos recognized that voice instantly. "You're the one who left the message! Do you expect me to believe that you did all of this by yourself?"

The double stepped closer and smiled that cheeky playboy smile Carlos had only ever seen in the mirror. "Yes, indeed; it was just me, myself, and _you_. See, I was once an Elvis impersonator in Vegas, but I felt the whole character become too cliché, incredibly unoriginal. Then a fellow Elvis showed me a YouTube video of you and your buddies in concert. From then on, I had a new muse. I remember watching your concerts and listening to your interviews thinking, 'That lucky bastard, I wish I could be like him'. Then I realized, why be like him when I could _be_ him? I had the body and the hair, I had access to a tanning salon and a gym. The only thing I really had to invest in was a bit of facial reconstruction.” He stepped forward to give Carlos a better look. “Now, it only takes a touch of makeup to become a spitting image of the internationally famous Carlos Marín." Fake Carlos's face was now less than a foot away from the Real Carlos, and the latter started to pick out slight imperfections in the carbon copy before him. The eyebrows were a touch too thin, and there were faint surgery scars beneath a layer of foundation. Unfortunately, those flaws were not drastic enough to be picked up from a distance or, more importantly, by a camera.

Real Carlos backed up to put some space between him and Fake Carlos, then held up the Harley Davidson bag. "Look, I got your money, alright? Just get rid of that video and let me leave, please."

Fake Carlos chuckled maliciously, slipping on a pair of leather gloves he produced from his front pocket. "Oh, I'm sorry, I never said I would let you go, Carlitos. Nah, this is how it’s gonna play out: I'll use your phone, summon your friends over here, and kill them one by one while you watch. Then, because your fingerprints will be on the gun, you'll be undoubtedly guilty for triple homicide." He drew a handgun from his back pocket and pointed the barrel right at Real Carlos as he walked closer.  "And you're gonna cooperate, because if you don't, I'll simply kill you and take your place long enough to kill them." Fake Carlos slipped back into character and asked, "So which is it gonna be, _chico_ , your phone or your life?"

Real Carlos, scared stiff as he was, made one more attempt to bargain. "Please, I promise I will double, no, triple what's in the bag if you spare their lives. Name your price, I'll pay it. You can even release the full version of that fucked-up video if that's your goal."

To this, Fake Carlos shook his head and replied, "The porn was just a way to get your attention. Truth is, there is no other video. Even I couldn't do that nasty shit longer than I had to for the first video and the clip. So you can at least go to jail with that small comfort. Now, unlock your phone in front of me and hand it over. You’ve got three seconds before I take it from your corpse. One…"

Real Carlos fumbled around for the cell phone in his front pocket. He nervously drew it out just after the count of two. But before the final number could be uttered, he suddenly shouted, "Red knickers, Davey, now!" In the blink of an eye, he chucked the phone at the copycat's head and hit him square between the eyes. Then he used both hands to swing the money bag around like a ball flail. It connected with Fake Carlos's hand, knocking the gun away several meters. Real Carlos took the opportunity to run over towards the gun. Fake Carlos snatched up the phone, only to curse when he saw the screen. There was already a ten-minute call on speaker in progress with David Miller.

From outside the warehouse, tires screeched and headlights flashed through the entrance. Fake Carlos quickly stood up, tossed the phone and gloves aside, and pounced on Real Carlos just before he could reach the gun. The two tussled on the floor as each tried to grab the weapon. With three car door slams and a rustling of gravel, the other three Divos rushed into the warehouse. No amount of planning could have prepared them for what they saw…

 

* * *

 

**One hour prior…**

“I think you watch too many crime shows, David,” Sébastien quipped while he stuffed the counterfeit $5 bundles into the Harley Davidson tote bag. Urs had called in a favor from a less-than-savory character who was somehow in his debt, and within thirty minutes they had enough fake bills for the exchange. Now the four of them were gathered in the main room of their hotel penthouse suite to help Carlos get ready.

David simply shrugged at Seb. “Maybe I do, but at least this way we’ll have an advantage.” He turned to Carlos and went over the plan with him again while Urs carried on another phone call in the corner. “Alright, so try to get him talking about the video, see how and from where the video will be released. If he has it with him, make him delete or destroy it in front of you, along with his porn account. If not, withhold the money and say you’ll double it if he can give you proof that there will be no video. Hopefully this fake money from [redacted] will fool him long enough to get him to do what we want. Remember, call my number right before you enter the property and set it on speaker; I’ll mute my receiver and Seb will use his phone to record everything. We'll borrow a car and park one block east in case shit goes sideways. Now, let’s set up some codewords just in case. If at any point you feel like we should intervene, just drop the phrase 'black knickers' in your conversation. If you need one of us to call the police, say 'blue knickers'. If you’d like both to happen, say 'red knickers'."

Carlos cocked an eyebrow skeptically. "Why knickers, though?"

Urs finished his call and answered, "Because you're more likely to say that casually than a random bird species or the name of a place."

"…yeah, you're right," admitted Carlos.

 

* * *

 

David, Urs, and Sébastien stopped short when they beheld the scene before them: two identical Carloses were wrestling on the ground near several stacks of crates, both equally scuffed up and slightly bloodied. One pinned the other to the floor and held a gun to his head. A pair of black leather gloves and a cell phone had been tossed off to the side.

"Oh, thank god you're here," called out the Carlos on the ground, "this son of a bitch was about to shoot me. Glad I said the codeword when I did."

"Wha--no! I knocked it out of his hand and then…" This Carlos must have realized just how guilty he must have looked, because he threw the gun towards the maze of crates. "Look, I am the real Carlos and I can prove--"

"Don't believe a word he says!" exclaimed the initial Carlos, shoving the second Carlos off to where he could stand up, "I'm Carlos Marín Menchero, born in Mörfelden-Walldorf on the 13th of October, 1968. The four of us have been together for more than fifteen years as Il Divo, and--"

"Oh come on, that's just common Wikipedia knowledge," interrupted the other Carlos, using a crate behind him to get back on his feet. "This guy is fucking crazy, he just wanted me so he could kill all of you and frame me."

The Carlos already standing rushed over and insisted, "No, it's this _pendejo_ who wants you all dead," with a punch to the face. He received a right hook in return, which kicked off a Double Carlos boxing match.

"We've gotta stop them," David said worriedly. He began to step towards the dueling Carloses only to be halted by Urs.

"Wait a minute, David, think about it. We can't tell them apart, and for as strong as you are, you might get hurt if you get between them," stated Urs matter-of-factly as the two brawlers attempted to grapple each other.

David shoved the hand on his chest away. "So what, are we supposed to watch Carlos have the shit beaten out of him twice over?"

"The police should be here any sec--" Urs was cut off by an exceptionally loud cry of pain from one of the Carloses.

“ **Enough of this!** ” screamed an enraged voice over the din. Everyone froze and turned towards the source of the unexpected outburst. Seb had marched forward between the fight and the two distracted band mates, his posture tense and his hands balled into fists.  He glared back at his bickering companions, then at the Real and Fake Carlos. His eyes, normally calm and blue, now contained enough fury to rival the stormiest seas. After a few breaths, Seb sternly mandated, “No more fighting. Step away from each other. NOW." The Carloses separated without a word. Even David and Urs put a bit of distance between themselves; this side of Seb only came out when he was irredeemably furious. "I don’t know what kind of sick bastard would go this far to try and ruin Carlos, but I won’t stand for it. Fortunately, there is a simple way to settle this matter once and for all. I will ask a question that I guarantee only the real Carlos would know the answer to.” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, knowing full well that the fate of Il Divo rested on his next words. When his eyes opened again, Seb posed the question: “How many birthmarks do I have on my ass?” David and Urs stared at him with stark disbelief.

“Three!” declared one Carlos almost immediately. “Though wait a sec, are we counting the one that’s on the curve between the thigh and the left cheek? Because if so, that’d be--”

"Alright, you can shut up now," Seb interrupted. The anger in his voice had disappeared completely. He ran up to this Carlos and embraced him tightly. For that one moment, the warehouse was completely still as the two of them held each other.

“Erm, excuse me,” interjected Fake Carlos in what was definitely not a Spanish accent, “but what the FUCK kinda question was that?!”

“The kind that’s going to put your ass in jail,” Urs replied coolly as red and blue lights flashed from outside.

Fake Carlos turned to run into the crate stacks, but David caught up in three long strides and tackled him to the ground. The right side of the runaway's face landed hard on the concrete floor. David kept his entire weight pressed on the impostor as he felt the back pockets for any other surprises. “Yep, definitely fake,” David announced, “his ass doesn’t feel the same.”

Several armed police officers entered the warehouse; two made a beeline for David and his prey while a third officer approached Urs to get the details. True to his nature, Urs had called the police back at the hotel, explained the situation to them, and gotten them to put two squad cars on standby less than a mile away. All he had to do was call them the instant Carlos said the right words.

A paramedic had to peel Carlos off of Seb in order to perform a quick exam on him, which revealed only a busted lower lip, two loose teeth (not enough to knock them out, much to Carlos’s relief), some minor scrapes and bruises on his body and face, and a small lump on the side of his head. Seb stood by his side the entire time, but faced away to avoid having to watch his friend in pain. What he saw instead made his heart sink to the pit of his stomach. Fake Carlos was being carried away on a stretcher, having broken his right orbital socket and jaw when David tackled him, if Seb had heard the EMT correctly. For one terrifying second, Seb's eyes tricked him into thinking it was actually Carlos on that stretcher. It was enough to make him panic and start hyperventilating. 

Carlos turned away from the paramedic to ask Seb what was wrong. He barely caught sight of his unwanted double being carried off, and suddenly he understood. "Sébastien, look at me. Look, I’m right here," Carlos said softly, guiding his friend's face to meet his gaze. Seb was on the verge of crying, his breath coming in short spurts that slowed down upon seeing Carlos. His Carlos.

Seb hugged him again, more mindful now of the tender areas. “We could have lost you,” Seb choked out before sobbing into his friend's shoulder.

“I could have lost you guys, too, but we’re all safe now,” Carlos replied, clutching Seb closer to him. He let out a shaky sigh and closed his eyes, letting the tears run down his face.

They stood there clinging to each other for almost a full minute. Seb pulled back a bit and whispered, " _Te quiero mucho_."

Carlos smiled that genuine smile he saved for those he loved most. " _Te quiero mucho tambien,_ " he replied, leaning back in to kiss Seb on the lips. Platonic though it was, there was a part of Carlos that wanted to make this moment last forever. Since the day they first met, Carlos and Seb had cared for one another in a way that not even the word "love" could describe. It made him push a little harder, linger just a second longer, than the social norm.

“Don’t worry, folks, they’re European, it’s not gay,” David assured the American emergency responders, much louder than necessary. “Though it's hard to tell with those two,” he added under his breath.

David's public service announcement startled Seb and Carlos back into the real world. They finally let go of each other, but their eyes were still connected. That was, at least, until Carlos noticed a bit of blood on Seb’s lip. Before he could even think about pointing it out, Seb had already run his tongue over the spot and frozen at the taste.

“Ah shit, I split my lip again,” Carlos realized aloud, and he touched it to confirm that yes, he had broken the liquid bandage protecting the wound. A blush crept up his cheeks as he scampered off to find the paramedic again. Seb brought his fingers to his own lips, partly to hide the grin spreading on his face.

 

* * *

 

**Two hours later…**

The four Divos had hitched a ride with the police officers, (the hotel valet had walked over to retrieve the borrowed car before he ended up in trouble with its rightful owner), to the precinct station. They were separated and each subjected to a brief questioning, but the entire ordeal was a fairly painless. The last one to emerge from the back room and into the lobby was Carlos, sporting a t-shirt to replace his blood-stained white dress shirt. His three companions could barely hold in their laughter at the sight of him wearing a neon blue shirt that commemorated the 6th Annual Cops vs. Citizens Donut Eating Contest. Urs tried to cover up his decaf coffee spit-take by commenting on the lack of sugar in his beverage.

Upon their return to the hotel penthouse, David and Urs dragged themselves to their respective rooms almost immediately. Seb, on the other hand, followed Carlos to his room; neither of them wanted to sleep alone after what had happened that evening. Carlos changed into some pajama pants and let Seb borrow a pair. Then they settled into bed together beneath the covers, with Carlos curling up against Seb's side and wrapping an arm around him. Right before they both fell asleep, they heard the door open and close, then felt the mattress sink a bit on each side. David lay next to Seb while Urs nestled himself against Carlos's back. As a way of explanation, Urs kissed Carlos on the cheek and whispered, "We all love you, Carlos. Never forget that." David reached over Seb to give Carlos a gentle rub on his upper arm.

When Carlos finally started surrendering to sleep, the last thing that crossed his mind was just how brilliant Seb's unorthodox impostor-exposing question had been. Exactly how he knew the answer was a secret that Carlos was willing to take to his grave.  He slid his hand down to Seb's backside and gave it an affectionate pat before drifting off.

 

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is dedicated to Sarah K, who has encouraged me to let my imagination go wild and not be afraid of writing random fuckery.


End file.
